Sometimes—a lonely forlorn child—she had gone to him and put her arms around his neck. If ever I did meet a man I could love, I should love him”—her voice dropped again—“platonically. As he looked around, he beheld an incessant stream of passengers hurrying on below. . The one profession, the one decent profession, I mean, for a woman—except the stage— is teaching, and there we trample on one another.
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